25
Olivia
For Tonight - Giveon
Between Sebastian’s flirty one-liners, the warmth of his hand at my back, and the last round of shots, I’m floating. Or maybe spinning. Definitely spinning. The fairy lights blur into soft halos, and the floor tilts slightly under my heels.
I find Amelia near the bar and throw my arms around her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I can’t believe you’re a Mitchell now. We’re officially sisters.”
She laughs, cheeks pink. “Well, sister-in-law. Otherwise, that’d be kind of weird.”
“Shh,” I hiss, pressing a finger to her lips. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
We dissolve into giggles, and she hugs me back, tighter this time.
My heart swells. The music’s loud, almost deafening—bass thudding through the floor, people shouting over choruses of ‘Mr. Brightside’.
It’s chaos in the best way. Mum appears out of nowhere, pearls gleaming, eyes narrowing in that amused, motherly way.
“Oh, darlin’, maybe slow the drinks down, hm?”
“Love you too, Mum.” I grin, holding up my half-empty glass. She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway. The MC’s voice cuts through the noise, booming over the microphone.
“Alright, folks! Time for the guard of honour. Let’s send our newlyweds off right!”
Cheers erupt as guests rush to the doors.
Amelia and Bradley run through the tunnel of raised sparklers, laughter echoing into the night, disappearing into the car waiting beyond the lights.
Just like that, they’re gone, off to start their forever.
Mum turns back to me, smoothing a stray curl off my shoulder.
“We’ve been roped into taking your cousins home.” She sighs. “Your father can’t say no to anyone. I’ll ask your brother to drive you back, alright?”
Before I can answer, a familiar voice cuts in behind me. “No need. I can take her home.”
Mum’s eyes bounce between us, the corners of her mouth curving in a way that makes my stomach flip. “Oh, Sebastian,” she says lightly. “Well, that’s very kind of you.”
“Not a problem,” he replies, tone calm, but his gaze is steady on me when I turn to face him.
“I’ll leave her in your capable hands, then.
” Mum pats his arm, gives me one last amused look, and disappears into the crowd.
The room might be spinning, my head light from champagne and shots, but I know exactly what’s happening.
Or maybe it’s more accurate to say he does.
Because when Sebastian Daniels offers to take you home, it doesn’t feel like a favour. It feels like a choice.
The air outside is cool, heavy with the scent of rain that never quite came.
The world tilts a little as I walk, champagne fizzing through my veins, laughter still clinging to the edges of my mouth.
Somewhere behind me, Amelia’s bouquet has been tossed, caught, and celebrated, and I’m still floating from it all.
From her joy, from the music, from the way Sebastian’s voice keeps echoing in my head.
He props one hand against the roof of the car, looking far too composed for someone who’s spent the night surrounded by chaos in the form of my family.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly, his eyes tracking the way I wobble slightly on my heels.
“Perfectly fine,” I lie, clutching my tiny clutch like it might anchor me to the earth.
“You’ve had a few.”
“Define a few.” I hold up three fingers, then squint, realising that might not be accurate. “Maybe four. And a half.”
His mouth twitches. “That’s enough. I’ll get you home.”
I narrow my eyes. “Have you had enough to drink?”
He shakes his head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve sobered up and followed the rules. Don’t worry.”
“Not very professional of you, Officer,” I tease. “Drinking on duty?”
“I’m not on duty, remember?” he says, voice flat but amused. “I’ve had enough water and time to be able to drive you home safely.”
I cross my arms, pretending to think it over. “Hmm. Responsible and bossy. How lucky am I?”
He opens the passenger door with that patient look on his face that somehow manages to infuriate and melt me all at once. “Get in the car, Trouble.”
But I don’t move. The champagne in my blood makes me reckless, the night too soft, too tempting. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
His brow lifts slowly. “What do you want to do then?”
God, what do I want? I want to dance again. I want fries. I want to kiss his stupid, perfect face. I want to touch him until he forgets why we shouldn’t.
“I don’t know,” I say, smiling up at him.
“I don’t like that look, Trouble.”
“What look?”
“The one that means you’re about to make me regret being the responsible adult here.”
I gasp dramatically. “You really are no fun.”
His mouth curves, a half-smile that’s pure sin. “How about some water, a tea to sober you up, and an episode of The Rookie?”
I press a hand to my heart. “Don’t talk dirty to me, Officer.”
That earns a low laugh. He glances over as he opens the passenger door for me, eyes glinting in the low light. “If I were talking dirty, Trouble, you’d know.”
I’m too gone for a comeback, so I settle for a smirk that probably looks more like a challenge.
The drive’s quiet, just the hum of tyres on asphalt and the faint buzz of the radio.
By the time we pull into his driveway, the alcohol has softened to a warm haze.
The sensor light spills golden across the front of the house.
Inside, the lights are low, and the TV flickers, casting faint blue shadows across the living room.
The familiar couch calls to me like muscle memory.
He disappears into the kitchen before reappearing with two mugs.
“Tea,” he says, handing one over.
“My hero.”
But my attention’s not on the drink. It’s on him. He sits on the other end, posture relaxed, long legs stretched out. The lamplight catches on the buttons of his shirt, the crisp white of it now a soft gold.
The episode starts, painting his face in coloured lights, and I pretend to watch, but my focus keeps slipping—to the steady rise of his chest, the vein that runs down his forearm, along the scattered tattoos, the way his fingers tap idly against his thigh like he’s keeping time with his heartbeat.
It’s maddening, this awareness. Too much and not enough all at once.
I shift, tucking one leg beneath me, fingers curling around my mug. The movement draws his attention, just a flash of his gaze, but it’s enough to make my pulse stutter. I can smell him from here—clean soap, a hint of whiskey, something just utterly him.
Somewhere between a scene I don’t register and the next breath I take, my hand shifts, resting on his arm, casually, almost accidental.
He glances down, then back at the screen, but I don’t miss the small hitch in his breathing.
My thumb moves slowly, tracing the rough skin near his wrist. He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t stop me. The muscles beneath my touch tighten, the air thickens, and the space between us narrows in a way that feels inevitable.
Just like the other night, when he’d done the same to me. Only this time, there’s no child to stir. No reason to stop. No one else is here.
I need to move. Do something before I drown in it.
“I’m gonna… grab some water,” I mumble, though my throat feels like sandpaper for entirely different reasons.
I set the mug down on the coffee table, but instead of heading for the kitchen, I turn, pacing a few slow steps in front of him.
My hands find the straps of my dress, fidgeting just to have something to do.
The fabric’s soft under my fingertips, sliding against my skin.
He’s watching me. The weight of his stare tracks every shift, every breath.
“Olivia.” My name lands heavy, low, threaded with warning.
“Sebastian.”
He sits back, arms stretched along the couch, a picture of restraint barely holding. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Trouble.”
I turn around, smile curving. “You always say that. But you never say no.”
His jaw tightens. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m not drunk. Maybe a little tipsy before, but not anymore,” I say, stepping closer. “And I’m aware of what I want.”
He exhales, eyes closing for half a second, like he’s praying for patience. When he looks at me again, it’s fire and conflict. “I think it’s best that you stop—”
“What did I say about you making decisions for other people? I’m a big girl. I can make my own choices.”
His voice drops, barely more than a whisper. “And what is it you’re choosing right now?”
The air thickens. My pulse thrums. “You.”
He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes dark and unblinking. For a moment, everything stills. No sound, no space, just this unbearable tension stretching thin between us.
“Come here,” he says, voice roughened by something that sounds a lot like surrender.
And God help me, I do. I step toward him slowly, my heels clicking softly against the floor until I’m standing between his spread thighs. His breath leaves him in a quiet exhale, a murmur slipping from his lips that I can’t quite catch but feel all the same as it vibrates through me.
“Just for tonight,” I whisper, closing the final inch between us. “Forget the rules. Forget all the reasons this shouldn’t happen.”
He rests his palms against my legs first, before sliding upward.
The hem of my dress lifts, bunching around my thighs as his touch burns a trail across my skin.
My breath stutters. My fingers find his shoulders, tracing along the solid muscle there, before sliding to the nape of his neck.
His hair is soft under my fingertips, and the small sound that leaves him nearly undoes me.
His breathing grows heavier, matching mine.
“You should stop me,” he says, though his hands keep moving, fingertips grazing the soft inside of my thigh.
I manage a shaky smile. “You don’t really want me to.”
He tilts his head back, eyes dragging up over me like he’s memorising something forbidden. “This isn’t smart, Olivia.”
“Neither was kissing you,” I murmur. “Didn’t stop me then either.”
“Trouble.” He hums.
The nickname hits differently now. It’s not just a tease. It’s an admission. A warning.
“Maybe.” I lean close until my lips brush the edge of his jaw. “But you can’t seem to stay away, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this.”
Sebastian’s hands tighten at my hips, pulling me flush against him, and the sound that escapes him is hoarse, gravelly, and entirely undone.
At that, I know he’s finished fighting. He grips my thighs, the motion firm, possessive, drawing me down until I’m straddling him.
The breath leaves my lungs in a shaky rush.
His hands frame my face, rough thumbs grazing my jaw, and for a heartbeat, we just breathe the same air, one suspended second before everything collapses.
The kiss hits hard. Hungry. Desperate.
Sebastian’s mouth moves against mine with a kind of restraint that feels like it might break at any second. I can taste the faint whiskey on his tongue, and the ache that’s been simmering between us for too long, since that first kiss, finally finding an outlet.
“Bash,” I pant against his mouth.
He catches my lower lip between his teeth, the ghost of a smile in his voice. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”
“Touch me.”
His hands still, just for a second, like he’s making sure he heard me right. The smallest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he gathers my dress higher—rough, warm palms brushing over my thighs. When his fingers brush the edge of my underwear, I shiver. “Here?”
I groan at his touch. “More.”
Sebastian’s words fan across my cheek. “You sure about that?”
But he already knows the answer. His fingers slip past the lace until they find the wet heat between my thighs. The first drag of his touch over my clit sends my hips jerking, my mouth falling open around a sound I can’t control.
Oh.
Oh.
This is actually happening. His fingers stroke me again, lazy and precise, like he already knows every inch of me. Like he’s thought about this as much as I have. Each pass sends a fresh wave of heat curling through my belly.
“Christ,” he mutters, voice breaking into a low growl. “You’re already soaked. This all for me, Trouble?”
All I can do is nod through a gasp as he moves his finger again.
This is so surreal. The fact that we’re actually doing this—touching, being like this—it’s almost too much to process.
After all this time. After all the lingering stares, that damned first kiss, and the late-night thoughts I refused to let take root.
We’re not flirting anymore. We’re not teasing.
He’s got his hand between my thighs, and I am so far gone, I don’t know how to come back.
It’s not like I didn’t want this. God, I’ve wanted this.
From the moment I started working for him—watching him walk around in those worn-in jeans, grumpy and delicious and entirely unaware of the damage he was doing to me—I’ve imagined this exact thing.
And now, here I am. On his couch. On top of his hands, with his fingers sliding deeper into my underwear like he’s staking a claim.
He teases my entrance once, twice, before pushing one thick finger inside me, slowly. I gasp, and he watches me with darkened eyes, and parted lips.
“Look at you,” he rasps, pumping that finger ever so slowly. “So tight around me already.”
My head tips back, and my hands grip his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.
A second finger joins the first, and the stretch makes my thighs tremble, the pressure building fast and hot in my core.
He curls them just right, just fucking right, dragging over that spot that has my vision blurring and my breath hitching on every exhale.
Sebastian leans in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “That’s it, Trouble. Let go for me.”
His words hit me harder than I expect, like he’s not just talking about my body, but about everything else too. The tension. The walls. The fear. And I do.
My orgasm hits like a tidal wave, crashing over me with no warning, stealing the sound from my lungs and the strength from my legs.
My body tightens around his fingers, trembling, pulsing, spiralling until there’s nothing but sensation.
He holds me through it, murmuring something low I can’t even register, still stroking me gently as I ride the last of it out.
When I finally blink up at him, dazed and breathless, he’s already watching me.
Like I just became his favourite thing in the world. And maybe he’s mine too.